New Blood On the Decks of the Pearl
by Mathus T. Quill
Summary: A new day dawns on the Pearl and new men wish to join the crew. Introducing two OC crew and one OC villian. Set after LOTBP but before DMC.


New Blood on the Decks of the Pearl

By John Dickinson

Chapter 1: Coming Aboard...

The rising sun almost blinded Joshamee Gibbs as he staggered out of the Staggering Strumpet in Tortuga. Checking his money pouch, much lighter that it had been when he had swaggered off the Pearl last night, he scratched his long mutton chops and broke into the swaying stride a land bound seaman uses when they are used to walking on a rolling deck. He hoped Jack would tire of the wenches of Tortuga soon. He needed the rolling sea under him to sleep well. Otherwise he had to drink him self to sleep. Heading to the harbor, and the docking slip of the Pearl, Gibbs noticed several scurrilous folks lurking about the dock near the end of the gang plank. Walking up to them, he let out gruff and forceful cry, just the voice that got him the job of First Mate.

"What's this then, why are you scalawags lurking about this dock like limpets waiting for the tide? Have yea business aboard the Pearl? Then STEP LIVELY...MOVE!" Swinging across the shaky gangplank, Gibbs strode to the door of the Captain's Cabin, and gave a few loud thumps, to roll out Jack, figuring by the look of them that they were prospective crewmembers. Taking out his leather hip flask, he holds it out before the door, standing to one side. A Loud bang announces the captain was up, and less than pleased at having been woken up before nature called him from his slumber. Walking into the flask, Jack snagged the bottle with a look of gratitude and took a strong swig of the fine Jamaican rum inside, and handed it back...glancing about at the hopefuls, then to Gibbs, then back to the hopefuls, with eyes almost spinning in their orbits. And now it begins, though Gibbs... Mad Captain Jack, Master of the Pearl.

"What fine fresh fish 'ave ye for me today, you bearded devil?" shouted Jack Sparrow, leaning forward and locking one of his eyes on the first prospect, a young and strong, if somewhat scabrous young man of straw hair and pale skin. The other eye, Jack kept wavering away, in that way he had grown recently, to disquiet those he spoke too. "Look at this catch! It's Whiting for dinner if we take him. He's never seen a full day of sun in his life. What'll you do when you find your self marooned on some god-forsaken island... with naught but a pistol with one shot and the laughter of the villainous scum that put you there ringing in your ears? I'LL TELL YOU! Not a blessed thing! The sun would bake your brains (if they're are any to be found in that protuberance 10 inches above your shoulders) and you would end up Starkers, MAD that is. But that wont happen to you, because that only happens to pirates, and YOU are not yet... experienced enough to become a pirate, on ANY ship... much less here on the Pearl, so named because she is the Treasure of the sea, With a crew as true as... any band of Pirates, and guns and speed enough to take the devil himself in a broadside battle. No, me lad... Not for you, this ship..." looking at the young man, then leaning back and whispering overly loud to Gibbs "He looks scrawny... do you think he's a eunuch?" The laughter of the other prospects and the blush of the prospective figure gave Gibbs a chuckle as well. The young man ran for the gangplank, almost in tears... "Take a turn on a whaler or maybe a tour through Her Majesties Navy," shouted Jack. "The Navy takes boys and makes Men...We take Men and make Pirates! Harrr, Harrr, Har... alright, what about you lot"

Looking over the next boy in line, smaller and scrawnier than the first by a good bit, no more than 13 or 14, with a striped stocking cap and dirty hands and face. Small enough to get by on half rations for a year or more, till he hit his growth spurt, and a glint in the eye, like there was many a purse in Tortuga that was wanting an owner due to the quick fingers of this one. No one could say this one was too soft to be on the crew. Stepping up, Jack was face-in-face with the scrawny dip, who was trying to stand straight and take on something that might be an impressive, or at least acceptable appearance.

"Right then, You! If ordered... will you steal, pillage, rape, plunder, murder, and otherwise defile man kind in order to impress me, and prove you are worthy of the name Black Hearted Dog of the Sea, who sold his own mother, sister or aunt on the street for a farthing, and his souls to the Devil himself, just to get where he is today, If so speak... no, Act! There are three of you here, seeking passage as crew of the Pearl". Jack looked over the other two, a broad shouldered Black fella and a sharp-faced pencil mustached lanky man, who looked like more trouble than he would be worth. "Right that's it... the first one of you over the side..." SPLASH! Quick as an eel onto bloody meat, the sharp faced man dove over the pin rail to the green blue of the Caribbean... Jack looked at Gibbs, who looked back at Jack and shrugged. Stepping over to the edge and peering down at the over eager prospect, Jack continued, "As I was saying... The first ONE of you over the side... will have to swim back to shore, as we are putting out to sea immediately after we have filled our two remaining bunks, so set to, show what you can do with fists and feet, lets see a good scuffle. I want to know what my new crewmen will be like when they board some Dutch dame full of silk to her scuppers". Howls of laughter from the crew, who had gathered on deck to watch the expected fight between the new crewmen. Gathering on the edge, pointing at the wet furious man, cursing in French and shaking his fist, the crew clapped the shoulders of the two remain plebes... the rank they would retain till they were initiated into the crew, at the end of their first battle.

"Right then, on to the rolls with the both of you." Walking forward to the foxcile, Captain Sparrow opened a low door into a storage area, slightly cluttered, but mostly ship shape. Under a scrap of sailcloth, a small chest was located and pulled out. Opening it, Jack took out an inkpot, a quill and a large scroll of foolscap, which he unrolled before the two prospective crewmen. In a ringing voice, Jack read out the contents of the top of the scroll. "Be it known, that the Black Pearl, being NOT of Her Majesties Navy, is under the Sole command of on Captain Jack Sparrow. His word is law, and the law is the Code. His decisions are final, as it shall be until the day that the crew rebels and removes him from the captaincy. Be it also known that the purpose served in sailing with, for and on the Black Pearl is PIRACY, to plunder, steal, and take what others have rightly worked and sweated for, and to give nothing back but lead shot, backed with enough power to plug said shot into the victim in question. To the question of monies, booty, or treasures taken by the crew of the Black Pearl, All are given a portion, based on experience, skill, and should they occur, any injuries incurred in the acquisition of said booty, in the manner so stated below..." Looking up, Jack noted both of the figures leaning in, waiting for his next words, and almost not breathing. This was why they were here, after all. "To standard crew, one portion of the lootings. To the Captain, four portions of the lootings, To any who hold rankings, Navigator, First Mate, Ships Doctor, Master Carpenter, Ships Cook, or Sail Rigging Master, and extra portion of the lootings shall be assigned. To Plebes, so noted, until they survive their first two months of service, including at least three skirmishes leading to lootings, one half portion shall be graciously assigned to them. Any injury leading to the loss of limb or eye will earn an added portion of the lootings for the next three raids. All portions are based on Full take, and the count of total portions will be figured AFTER the raid is ended and all are out of danger. That means," he said, with a glaring eye on the two of them, "that until you have distinguished your self in battle, you are plebes, and worth slightly less that the droppings of a seagull on the deck. Step lively or you can expect the sharp side of any crewman's tongue, or a box round the ear. You! The dark fella... of the Nubian persuasion... I know you think yourself a Man. You may have whelps wetting nappies from here to Port Royal, but Know This. Until you have proved your self... you are just as wet behind the ears as this young scallywag!" placing a hand on the shoulder of the young plebe. "Accept that, or you best start swimming." with that Jack held out the quill to the black man, awaiting him to make his mark on the rolls. Glancing at the gull quill with reproach, the man dug into the small pouch around his neck and pulled out some kind of bird foot, sharp clawed but raven black. Pricking the ball of his left thumb, he put a bloody thumbprint on the roll, followed by an X marked scratched with the same claw. Looking to the younger plebe, Jack again proffered the pen. "Make your mark boy, and you are cabin boy and powder monkey to the Black Pearl." The young man took the quill and wrote his name, surprising both Jack and Gibbs, who expected another X or other sigil. Reading out the name, "Thomas DeSanger... quite a moniker for such a... small sailor. We'll be calling you Tommy till you earn your own name," said Jack.

Turning to the Gibbs, Jack said, "He's yours to show the ship and start his training. Show him no love, less he come to expect it. If he won't answer to your voice, speak with your belt. If he won't hop to then, there are plenty of rope ends about that can be braided to a rope-tailed cat in no time at all. And you, you dark shadow, will follow me, as you can. From me you will learn the ship and what duties you will have. By the way, what do we call you?"

"My people call me Tur-Gando," said the crewman, "but here, I would be called Pitch." in thickly accented English. The accent was not one that Jack recognized, but his speech was understandable enough.

"Fair enough Pitch. Know that any man here may take liberties with the names that plebes use. Don't take offense, as soon enough such things pass to smoke when the bond of Battle binds souls together. We will see that soon enough." Stowing away the Roll and sealing the hold, Jack nodded Pitch through the door by the storage hatch, leading into the forward hold.

"This is the Mess, where we eat, and where you can take care of ship chores. We lost our last serving wench and your mother won't be in to clean after you. Keep it Clean. I can't lead us to glorious victory against harrowing odds if the entire crew is down with the bilious winds because of a dirty mess hall." Behind Jack, a face like a raisin, with a mustache twice its width, popped over the counter and eyed Pitch with beady black eyes, like obsidian chips. "Ah, Tonga... this is the new plebe, call him Pitch." Pitch stepped forward to give his hand to the cook, who held up his right hand to show a long handled cooking fork attached to a stump. "Ah yes, Tonga was a member of a cannibal tribe on his island. A tribesman took a fancy to him one night, as he slept. When he woke, he was minus a hand, and outward bound for anywhere else. How much longer till he ended up long pig for the entire tribe eh?" Tonga nodded his head sagely and turned back to his work.

Meanwhile at the aft, Gibbs was guiding Tommy around the ship, explaining his duties.

"Right lad, as the cabin boy, you are expected to be servin in the captain's cabin, storing his things, making his bunk, keeping his possessions ship shape. Remember if something goes missing, you are the first place they will look, and it's a taste of a lash if you do. The booty will come soon enough; don't go stealing from your shipmates. Listen here now; this is a good crew, if a bit rough. All of them are pirates in good standing. We follow the Code... for the most part, but know this; you're the cabin boy and a plebe at that. Expect the odd cuff round the ear or cross word from the crew, till they get used to you. Don't get all head up and pick to scuffle with any crew, lest you wish to get a chance to kiss the gunners daughter." At that, Gibbs led him below deck at the forward hatch.

"This here is the powder magazine. Its kept here so stray sparks don't get to the black powder and blow the boat to smithereens. When a battle starts, you are expected to be courier of satchels of powder to the gun crews. That's part of the job called "powder monkey." Move right smart then, because having our guns primed and ready to return salvo can mean the difference between winning plunder and dancing the hemp fandango."

"Yes Sir," with a nod from Tommy. Gibbs looked at him, squinting for a moment, then swung his arm swift to box Tommy's ears, following it up with a bark.

"SIR... works for Her bloody Majesty's Navy. I spend enough years as a tar, having to snap to and shout SIR for every pimple on the ass of mankind who could afford to buy a commission, to be sick to death of that rot. I am MISTER GIBBS. And know this; that name can be a fearful curse to ye, or as genteel as beatitude, all depending on if you have obeyed commands and done your job. NOW... Hop to, and follow me, I've work to do, so I am setting you with Marty to learn your knots and ties. Seamanship test at the end of the day... and a lick of my belt for each one you can't do." Leading Tommy across the bunk area, he introduces him to the shortest member of the crew, Marty, the angry faced shaven headed dwarf who looked him over, and took out a cord to start his lesson in tying the knots of a seaman.

Meanwhile, back in Tortuga, a sodden and bedraggled man, with thin mustache and shiny new rapier, walked out of the waves along side the dock. Spouting furious French curses under his breath, he stalked down the beach to a long boat hidden among the mangroves. Several heads popped out of the thicket.

"Mon Due, Capitan! What 'az append to voue? You are," seeing the anger in the man's stance and the cold promise of death to anyone who made light of the situation, "...still here. Did they discover your cunning plan and attack you, forcing you to draw Silverquick and defend your self?", asked the sailor, dressed in far over done swash buckler garb. His voice sought to provide a dash of risk and daring to the narrative, but his question rapidly dwindled to a tone of toadying yes-man-ship.

"No Jock, they didn't discover anything. And I would not draw this piece of tin you lent me if I wanted to kabob a plague rat, much less in my own defense," he said, unbelting the shiny new rapier and handing it over to Jock, and receiving back his own well used and well known saber. A silver filigree handle showed the wings of a raven, and the pomelwork showing the head, depicted with great realisim in shining silver with ruby eyes. Belting it back on, Raven Pierre, the feared pirate hunter three years out of the French navy, started pushing the long boat out of its hiding and towards the beach.

"No, Jock, it was as they say, "He is never in so much danger as when a clever man tries to be clever," I went in trying to be the perfect overeager new crewman... and played the part so well, I sent my self out of the running with out a raised fist. Now, Put your shoulders to this boat men, we need to get to the Murders Flight, if we are to try to keep sight of the Pearl."

His crewmen leapt to his aid, and the boat slid out into the choppy surf. As Raven Pierre sprang forward and tucked his feet, flipping across the bow and into the boat, the others scrambled in after him, Jock the last in, and wet well past the waist by the time he finally clamored to his seat at one of the oars. They pulled on the oars, making best speed, around the point and heading for the inlet where their frigate, the Murders Flight, a sleek pirate-hunting vessel, sat awaiting the last of its crew, and its captain. Once they were aboard, anchor was weighed and they took sail, making for a path not on the Pearls wake, but one on her aft starboard quarter, seeking to appear as only another privateer or other outbound from Tortuga. Without someone on the ship, spiking the cannons, or fouling the powder, the fight against the Black Pearl was not one that Pierre considered worthwhile. Keeping pace and following may give the advantage he sought, and at the moment, it was the best chance that he had.


End file.
